


find me among the rubble

by lionsenpai



Category: Final Fantasy XIII
Genre: And making any situation weird, F/F, Jihl's only talents are her job, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 15:53:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2234739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionsenpai/pseuds/lionsenpai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You finish up the remains of your paperwork, pack up your things, and meet her by the door to bid her goodnight. She nods and holds the door for you as you go, and when you slip outside and take long strides to your velocycle, you can feel Lightning’s eyes on you the whole way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	find me among the rubble

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Jihl/Lightning - powerplay kink

Tuesdays become a regular thing for the two of you.

You finish up the remains of your paperwork, pack up your things, and meet her by the door to bid her goodnight. She nods and holds the door for you as you go, and when you slip outside and take long strides to your velocycle, you can feel Lightning’s eyes on you the whole way.

She shows up later after her shift has ended, her hair still damp from the shower, and you let her in cordially, ushering her into the parlor of your Edenhall quarters like she hasn’t seen it a dozen times before. Lightning sets the small stack of papers awaiting a signature from Yaag on the coffee table, and you offer to take her coat while she sits. She slides out of it and hands it off, and you ask about her sister more to be polite than because you think she’ll actually tell you about her.

Some small part of you is thankful for that as well because no matter how attractive Lightning’s steadfastness is or how _good_ she is at her job, you can tell the _situation_ with her sister is a tangle of hurt feelings that comes with no easy remedy.

“She’s fine,” Lightning tells you simply, and it’s as easy as that; your obligation is fulfilled.

“And what of you, Sergeant?” you ask, sitting down beside her and leafing through the papers, her shoulder warm against yours. You sign absently, only glancing at each page before applying your signature to the dotted line. “There was some commotion today, was there not?”

Lightning sighs, not quite leaning into you but not quite as ramrod straight as she usually is. “A minor disruption. Conspiracy theorists. They were dealt with quickly,” she says, and her tone tells you she doesn’t care to say more on the matter. Truly uneventful then.

“How lucky I am, to be in such capable hands.” You smile, brushing your fingers over Lightning’s knuckles. She turns her hand palm up and you slide your fingers along the callouses until you can feel the thrum of her pulse beneath her skin, two fingers pressed into her wrist. Her lips purse and then tighten into a line, and you just pull your hand away, returning to the papers.

Lightning lets out a soft exhale and leans closer, touching your bare shoulder and scraping her nails lightly over the skin, her eyes locked on your neck. You make a point of actually looking over the next page, not giving her so much as a glance, and she finally leans in, thumbing the edge of your off the shoulder sweater, and presses her lips to your collarbone. She nips lightly and then soothes the skin with a swipe of her tongue, and you sigh gently, tilting your head up for her.

She takes the hint, trailing kisses up toward your ear, and you wonder if she’s feeling out your pulse as well, lips soft against your skin.

“Enjoying yourself?” you ask. “There was a time when you were certain PSICOM wouldn’t suit you, remember?”

“It doesn’t,” Lightning tells you, drawing back for just a moment. You tuck a lock of golden hair behind your ear, and she takes that chance to relieve you of your glasses, folding them up and taking the stack of papers from you. She sets them both on the coffee table and then looks back to you, her brows drawn downward, her mouth slanted into a frown. “I stand around guarding things all day. No one but reporters ever wants to see what I’m guarding, and if there’s an incident in the city, I’m supposed to pull back _into_ the building.”

“You’re guarding me,” you say, drawing the pad of your thumb along the curve of her neck. She doesn’t flinch when you touch her, but she doesn’t move either. You could be holding her there with a knife, but you aren’t. “And the things I deem important. You’re protecting us all from Pulse-born threats. Isn’t that enough?”

“We haven’t had a Pulse conflict in—” she begins, but you cut her off, turning your nail into her skin and digging in hard enough to raise a single red crescent.

“You’re bored then?” you ask, though you’re not really listening.

The blood rushes to the mark, turning the skin a warm red, and you watch as she tenses when you dance your fingers around her neck, finding the spot with your nail again. You don’t squeeze, merely press, but the blood wells up beneath your thumbnail. Lightning inhales sharply but doesn’t move.  

“ _Yes_ ,” she admits, beginning to raise her hand to her neck to inspect it before thinking better of it.

You laugh and pull your hand away, and when you bring it to your lips, the taste of copper blooms on your tongue. It’s nearly as sweet as the way she fists her hands in the fabric of her pants. Decidedly pleased with yourself, you turn to face her, one leg stretched out across her lap, skirt riding up around your hips.

“Do you want new patrols? I could arrange them if a change of scenery is all you require. You’ll still be stationed here in Eden, and I will still be your direct commander, but if you need to feel the dirt beneath your boots then—”

“I’ve been thinking about returning to Bodhum,” Lightning says, finally touching her neck. The beads of red paint her skin a pretty color where she rubs at it, but your smile has deserted you.

“And why,” you begin, tone flat. “Would ever want to do that.”

Lightning looks terribly finicky, the way she only gets when she’s about to talk about her sister, her family, but you take her by the wrist, lips pulled tight in the beginnings of a frown, and say, “I have need of you here. You are well accommodated, your previous commander gives you his best regards in your promotion, and your sister is fine as you have said. What exists for you in Bodhum?”

She stiffens around the shoulders, eyes slanting away, her lips pressed tight into a line. She has nothing to say because you are right, of _course_ you are, but she still resists it. What does she think? She lived with her sister for years yet here she is, as estranged as ever. Distance never played into that; Lightning’s gunblade is sharp as death, and not even familial ties can withstand its edge.

You smile some, letting her go and pushing her bangs away from her eyes. She looks at you, blue eyes murky where they ought to be clear, focused. Ought to be, but you like her like this nearly as much as you like her in the heat of battle, so you caress the line of her jaw and lean in to lick the smear of blood away.

“What do you want?” she whispers, pulse pounding against your lips.

“You,” you say, nipping at the skin and enjoying her quiet hiss. “Your loyalty.” She tilts her head back, and you lavish attention on her neck, smudges of lipstick where there used to be blood. “Your obedience.” You look upon your work and then take her chin between your fingers, making her look at you. “Your _trust_.”

“How many of those do you think I have? One? Two perhaps? No more than that, surely. You guard them greedily, Sergeant,” you say, brushing your fingers across her lips. She parts them for you, and you slip two inside, touching the tops of her teeth, the backs, pulling her closer. “Won’t you share those pieces with me? I’ve been more than accommodating.”

Her tongue is hesitant against your fingers, but after a moment she closes her eyes, bowing her head and sucking, and your grin is victory, conquest. You press your lips to her forehead and pull her up to your mouth, only your fingers separating the two of you.

“I want,” you say. “For you.” You pull your fingers from her mouth and find the inseam of her pants with them, pressing hard. “To _stay._ ”

She kisses you, slowly at first and then with tongue and teeth, and you give her all the pressure she wants, her hips rocking down against your hand. It’s enough to have her gasping against your lips, eyes screwed shut as you straddle her, skirt rucking up. You lean into her, your hair falling over the two of you as you bend to kiss her, and when she moans against you, your hand finds her throat, the other still working against her.

“Tell me you’ll stay,” you whisper, feeling her gulp and shudder beneath you.

It would be too easy to squeeze until she was breathless, her words tumbling from her lips like prayers, but you want your mortal servant willing, bound to you of her own volition. Her fingers find the cotton of your sweater, and she trembles and jerks, her mouth parted for you, but you don’t partake. You want her word first.

“ _Yes_ ,” she moans, and you aren’t sure whether it’s because you’ve slipped your fingers down the front of her trousers or if she’s agreeing.

“You’ll stay?” you repeat, voice low, eyes never leaving her face. “Say it _.”_

She bites her lip instead, but your fingers are a leash, yanking her along until she crumbles. You’ll be there to pick up the pieces, so long as she _stays._

“ _Say it,”_ you hiss, and she shudders again.

“I’ll stay,” she manages between breaths, her hips rising against you before dropping back into the cushions, panting and shaking with pleasure. She trembles when you move against her gently, pulling your hand from her pants and wiping your fingers on her thigh.

It takes you a moment to catch your breath, watching her blink back to herself slowly. When she does, you guide her hands to your hips and rock against her carefully.

“I’m pleased to hear it,” you say as she pulls up your sweater with one hand and pulls down your hips with the other, your fingers finding their way into her hair.


End file.
